Scattered Thoughts
by WhimsicallyAwkward
Summary: Anna is remarkable, though she might not know it. Charles is dangerous, and exhilerating. Together, they are something unimaginable. Look through others eyes when encountering Charles, Anna, or both Charles and Anna.
1. Samuel Cornick

**Title: Scattered Thoughts**

**Author: WhimsicallyAwkward**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Anna, not Charles. Written purely for entertainment with no copyright infringement intended.**

**A/N: This is going to be a series of oneshots relating to Anna, Charles, or Anna and Charles. I was chilling on my couch a few weeks ago, writing a little bit for my other stories and thinking about what I wanted to do next for the world of Alpha and Omega. This was one of several ideas that popped into my head.**

**I wanted to know what people think of Anna when they meet her, like what Bran thought, what Samuel thought, and what Angus thought about the girl with whiskey curls. This led to me wondering what people thought of Charles, of what people though of Charles and Anna. So, instead of writing ten million oneshots all having to do with people's thoughts on Charles or Anna, I decided to combine them like I'm doing for a Twilight story of mine.**

**I hope you enjoy it...This first oneshot is centered around Samuel and Anna. It's not when Samuel first laid eyes on Anna, but rather shortly after Anna, Charles, and Bran have returned from Seattle.**

**I'm going to quit yapping now...Here we go :)**

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><p>Samuel didn't know what he thought of Anna Latham the first time he saw her.<p>

She had been sitting all shy and demure next to the slender figure of his dad, and the hulking one of his brother.

Samuel thought she appeared to be trying to sink into the pew, trying to blend in.

It wasn't working very well.

Samuel figured that even if she _hadn't_ been wearing the bright yellow shirt, people would still be sneaking glances.

The stranger in their midst, all small and pretty, escorted by none other than Charles Cornick.

The whispers of mate flowing.

"_Charles Cornick with a mate?"_

"_He was only gone a few days!"_

"_Didn't know he even _had_ a heart."_

"_She is very skinny."_

"_Quit looking! Can't you tell she's afraid? And Lord knows if you get her riled up you'll have Charles to deal with. I love you hunny, but that's a battle you won't win."_

He'd have to say he didn't think she was much when he first met her.

Pretty yeah. But so fearful, half hiding behind his brother.

She'd stood up to Asil though, so the little girl had guts somewhere within her.

Then his father explained her history further to him, and suddenly Samuel thought she might very well be stronger than him.

Samuel hadn't been gone more than a month when his da was calling him up, telling the tale of Seattle, Arthur, and Dana.

Samuel had had enough. He flew home the next morning.

The first person he saw was Anna Lat - no, no Anna _Cornick._

Charles had called Samuel on the flight home to say that he and da were tied up, but that Anna would be there to drive him in.

He didn't know what to expect. He knew what she'd done since he'd been gone. Trekked up a mountain with his little brother, killed a witch, befriended Asil - which amazed Samuel more than even killing a black witch -, killed a vampire, been kidnapped, shot, and lastly, had saved Charles' life. Saved his life by killing Dana.

He knew all this, but Samuel still expected to see the timid, too skinny woman from before.

Because despite knowing what she'd done, it hadn't sunk in. He'd seen her only briefly for the wedding and then Samuel was gone again

She was sitting on the top of Charles' truck when Samuel first exited the plane. Her legs stretched out on the windshield, her weight supported by her elbows as she appeared to study the clouds.

She'd gained the weight she needed back, giving her more curve from her hips and waist. And she had color. Not tan - no, not tan, but she was flushed in the cheeks and her sun-kissed skin glowed.

The woman he remembered had been 10 pounds too small and so very pale.

But that wasn't her biggest changes. No, nowhere near them. When her eyes met his, the lovely brown shade was sparkling.

She smiled at him, a brief flash of white teeth as she gathered herself and jumped to the ground.

She was walking toward him now, and Samuel knew she wouldn't get anything from his expression - his father and brother weren't the only ones with poker faces - but he was thinking hard.

The biggest change in her, he thought, was that she wasn't trying to disappear into the crowd. She definitely wasn't trying to stand out, but her back was straight, her head high, and she walked forward confidently.

She was closer now. She stopped about five feet in front of him, and no matter how hard she tried to hide it, there was wariness in the curve of her shoulders.

Samuel was amazed.

That this woman, so brutalized by dominant males, was smiling surely at him, with only a little bit of wariness holding her back was a testament to her strength.

Killed a black witch.

Saved Asil from himself.

Killed a vampire.

Killed Dana and saved his brother's life.

Made his brother smile every day.

Samuel figured that the combination of the little things going on around her and Charles every day helped her move forward. And, of course, his brother's blind stubbornness.

Samuel loved her without knowing her because of his brother.

She made Charles so happy, gave him someone he could always trust other than Samuel and da.

She made Charles smile and that was good enough for Samuel. The fact that their da also loved Anna just made Samuel that more desired to know her.

Her clothes, he saw now, were soaking wet - clinging to her skin. It had been raining heavily as he flew in, but she should have been protected by the truck.

"Hi, Samuel."

"Hello Anna."

She stuck her hands in her pockets, and grinned a little.

"We don't even know each other that well do we? Well you know Bran, he was _supposedly_ needing Charles for help and couldn't do without him. And conveniently no one other than me was available to pick you up. Charles told me before he left that he was pretty sure Bran just wanted me to be the one to pick you up."

Samuel nodded - that sounded like his da.

"Why do you think that is?"

She shrugged, a tiny shift of her shoulders "Eh, maybe he thinks that you and I should bond or something like that."

Samuel nodded again but he didn't think that was it.

He knew his da worried about him, knew that he thought Samuel was well on his way to self harm, and Anna was a damn good Omega wolf.

Since she'd stepped up to him, Samuel had fallen prey to the waves of calm she was sending off. What she'd spoken wasn't a lie - she didn't know why Bran had forced them together, but she sure as hell was sending her Omega talents at him.

Maybe she just thought he needed some relief, and that made Samuel wonder how prominent his emotions were.

She was quiet, from then on out, sliding into the car and taking a minute to turn on the heat.

Samuel stuffed his duffel bag between his legs as he took to the passenger seat. He looked at her sideways; he wanted to talk to her.

"So, I hear you've been busy."

Anna snorted, loudly. Then she blushed, just a slight tint of red high on her cheeks.

She cleared her throat, and cranked the engine before addressing him again.

"Yeah, that's an understatement. It's been crazy, but you know, Charles and I are back, and things are settling down - at least as much as they can for _this _pack."

She was lovingly exasperated as she spoke the last words. Her smile was tender and her eyes fond.

She loved the pack, but she also acknowledged that they were all pretty much crazy. Samuel respected her even more, even as he felt his smile grow.

"Um, yeah, living here can be very - um -"

"Action-filled?"

"Pretty much."

She pulled out of the parking lot, driving five miles slower than the speed limit on the rain slick pavement.

He took notice again, of her clothes, of her hair. The light brown locks were plastered to her, hanging dark and dripping to mid-back. And her clothes - the over large flannel shirt unbuttoned over black and her jeans were soaking wet too. She had a towel spread over the seat to avoid any water getting on the seats.

She smelled of rain, Charles, and a scent uniquely her own.

Her eyes met his as he asked, "Was it raining at you're house? When you were getting in the truck?"

She turned back to the road, but her eyes jerked down to look at her appearance. To look at the rain drops still clinging to her skin.

She blushed again, more this time, a flush in her cheeks.

"No, no it was only sprinkling then, but the weather said that it would be pouring by the time I got to the airport."

This didn't really explain the state of her drenched body.

He didn't say anything, only raised his eyebrows and waited.

Anna sighed. "You're as bad as your father. And your brother. They do this to me all the time."

Samuel felt his lips tug into a grin. "It runs in the family."

A Honda cut them off, and Anna turned her attention to the road as she pressed her palm on the horn. The driver of the Honda stuck her hand out the window, flipping them off.

Samuel knew that he would have been mad any other time, but he was to busy being amused.

Anna's eyes narrowed, her mouth hardened, and she glanced in the mirror while stepping on the gas quite a bit.

Samuel braced himself when she jerked the car in the other lane.

Her eyes were still angry, her foot pressed to the floor, and when they passed the car it contained a girl, a teenager who was sneering at them childishly. Anna smiled at her, a radiant flash of teeth, before passing and then reclaiming her spot in front of her.

Anna then slowed considerably, chuckling a little bit as the girl pulled off behind them, her phone at her ear and talking a mile-a-minute.

Anna continued to laugh before she seemed to jerk herself, her smile slipping.

"I'm sorry, Samuel. I didn't think about you. I know Charles hates when I do stuff like that."

He smiled reassuringly at her.

"Don't be, that was quite entertaining. That's the most fearsome I've ever seen you. Besides staring down Asil, that is."

She chuckled kind of, and their conversation slipped for a while.

They were almost home when Samuel broke the silence.

"So, you never told me why your are wet."

She looked thoughtful. "No, I didn't, did I? Well, it was impulse on my part. It's been warmer recently, which has been wonderful. So, when it was still warm outside and Charles said it was going to rain I decided to take the towels with me. In that case, if it rained I could, well - uh - play in it while waiting on your flight to land."

Samuel's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, why not? I wanted to play in the rain and since I knew I wouldn't get hypothermia, I grabbed a towel on the way out the door."

"What did Charles say to that?"

Anna laughed, a melodious tinkle that warmed Samuel.

"He didn't say anything, not really, but his face conveyed his thoughts. I'm pretty sure he knew what I was going to do. But, bless him, didn't tease me about it - although I'm sure he will later."

Samuel laughed then too. Because he could picture it, Anna grabbing her keys and glancing at the weather before snatching up a towel too. She'd probably have an impish grin, and he could picture his brother's reaction.

They pulled into Charles' - and Anna's, he reminded himself - driveway.

Anna laughed just a little again. "My brother and I, when we were younger, would always play in the rain. Always. I remember being four years old and the babysitter was screeching at us to get out of the rain. Didn't matter if it was 90 or 20 degrees outside."

Samuel thought of the tall, smiling guy who'd hugged Anna at the wedding, swung her around, and he could picture this.

Charles could be heard inside now, walking towards the door. Anna grinned at him once more before almost running towards front door.

It opened before her to reveal Charles, whose eyes widened a little bit when he came face to face with the charging - wet with rain - female.

Anna _pounced - _quite literally, _pounced _on Charles who seemed to instinctively throw his arms open to catch her.

Charles hissed, a barely audible rush of air, upon Anna's contact with him.

"Christ, Anna. You're cold. And wet. Why are you so cold?"

She pulled back while wrapping her arms around his neck and shrugging.

"I don't know. It's not cold outside, and I had the heater on in the car. It just comes naturally."

Anna smiled again, kissing Charles on the lips quickly before disappearing around him.

Charles narrowed his eyes at the wet blotches on his shirt before looking up to meet Samuel's eyes.

"Samuel."

"Charles. It's good to see you. _Alive._"

Charles looked at him solemnly - like he always does - and said, "It was a close one, but you can thank Anna that I pulled through."

Samuel shook Charles' hand firmly before pulling him in to hug him.

"I'll be sure to do that little brother."

Samuel had sunken onto Charles' couch when Charles next spoke.

"How are you Samuel?"

"I'm fi -"

Even Samuel could smell his lie, so when Charles' eyes narrowed and the stench of a lie arose he changed his answer.

"Better. I'm better."

"Good."

Anna's voice flowed through the house.

"So Charles? What was the drop-dead important thing that you're father needed?"

Charles smiled at her voice. It was a smile that still amazed Samuel. Smiles could be pried from Charles occasionally, but none like the ones Anna brought forth.

"He was looking over reports of an out-of-control wolf in Florida somewhere, and decided that he couldn't do without my help."

"Ah. Very crucial."

As she said this, she danced into the room. She'd changed out of her wet clothes, and pulled back her long brown hair.

She winked at Samuel before planting herself in Charles' lap.

Anna jumped when she leaned back against him, her eyes growing playfully resentful as she muttered, "You're wet."

"Yes, because a mad-woman jumped me with her soaking wet body. Forgive me."

"Never."

"That's a shame, because the mad-woman was also wearing my favorite shirt. The one that she'd worn out into the rain, and most likely ruined."

Anna's mouth dropped, just a little bit, as she whirled to face Charles.

"You are such a drama queen. You're shirt can take a little bit of rain."

Samuel felt his shoulders shake.

Charles was wearing his typical unemotional mask, but Samuel could see his eyes flashing and his mouth turning up at the corners.

Anna could too.

"Don't you laugh at me mister big bad wolf. And if you were truly worried about the shirt you would have stopped me before I left."

"Maybe I didn't know you were planning on bringing out your inner five year old."

Anna gave Charles a look of such disgust that Samuel couldn't hold it back anymore.

He laughed.

True, belly-rolling laughing that sent him gasping and brought tears to his cheeks. He could hear Anna's giggling and his brother's reluctant chuckling, and this made him laugh all the more.

He silenced his laughter when he realized - this was the first time he'd truly laughed since he didn't know when.

Maybe it was the Omega, or maybe it was the joy at seeing his little brother truly _happy_. Or maybe it was even a shift in Samuel, but all he knew is that he was going to stay a little while with his da, his brother, and Anna.

Anna, who was much more than he realized.

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_Uggh, I really hope I captured everybody right. I wanted to make Charles more open, because it's just Samuel with him and Anna, but he can't be too open, so I hope I found the right balance. As for Samuel, I worked with what I know as I have not read the Mercy Thompson series and know only of Samuel of what is in the Alpha and Omega novels._

_Anyway, I also did this with no Beta, and despite several re-readings, and scan-overs I no doubt missed errors that I made, so if you happen across any glaring mistakes just lemme know in a review or message._

_Review Please, and lemme know what you think! Happy Thanksgiving!_


	2. Ian Garner

**Author: WhimsicallyAwkward**

**Title: Scattered Thoughts**

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Anna or Charles or anybody. Patricia Briggs owns this series, I'm just meandering in her world.**

**Beta: No beta, so please forgive any minor grammar mistakes.**

**A/N: This chapter is Ian Garner's chapter. For those who don't remember, Ian Garner is a wolf in the Seattle pack. He is the leader of the small group of wolves who greet Anna and Charles.**

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><p><em>You gain strength, courage, and confidance by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing that you think you cannot do ~Eleanor Roosevelt<em>

**_Ian Garner_**

Ian Garner didn't consider himself to be a fearful man.

He'd never backed down from anything. Not from fights, or from school. He'd done what he had to do to get to where he was.

He'd gotten his place in life by crawling through hell and coming out clean on the other side. By fighting for better things. He'd managed to get through high school, and into college. He'd worked a steady job to pay for his apartment and his school funds, and he was pretty damn proud of himself.

He'd been changed into a werewolf when he was twenty-two. He remembered the night clearly, even though he'd spent most of it drunk. He'd been at a bar with his friends from college, celebrating their graduation. Dancing with girls, drinking everything within reach, and feeling a little to confidant.

Confidant enough to punch the asshole who he bumped shoulders with.

He remembered the crunch of his hand, and the fury on the guy's face.

He remembered how the guy disappeared into the crowd, and his friends called him a pansy because he was bitching about his hand.

Ian remembered later, walking up his driveway, one hand wrapped in a make-do bandage, and the other wrapped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. He remembered the sudden pain, remembered bleeding out.

He'd been changed into a werewolf, and he didn't think he'd ever once been afraid. He'd just accepted it with indifferently. Then he'd started driving until he broke down in Seattle, and Angus had taken him in.

Now, he'd been a werewolf for almost five years. Settling into his place in the middle of pack ranks, getting him a job, a house, and becoming one of Angus's most trusted wolves - if not one of his more powerful ones.

Everything in his life had led him to where he was right now, in charge of several other wolves, and quaking in his boots.

He hated it. Hated being afraid, but damn if he couldn't help it.

Charles Cornick. The Enforcer. Right hand man of the Marrok.

There were so many whispers about Charles Cornick. More wolf than man, all raging madness and killing power. Loyal only to the Marrok. _Second_ only to the Marrok.

Angus had picked him to welcome Charles to Seattle. During that conversation, Ian had felt more fear than he had in a long time.

"_Charles Cornick?"_

"_That's right."_

"_Why me? Why not a more dominant wolf? A stronger wolf?"_

"_I don't need a confrontation. The less dominance, the less instinct he will feel to assert his. You _are_ dominant, Ian, but not outrageously so. Enough that you can keep the other wolves I've assigned in line, but not enough to cause a problem."_

Ian wished that hadn't made sense. Or that he'd found a strong counter-argument, and he'd wiggled his way out of this shit.

But he hadn't, and here he was. Trying desperately to keep his breathing in check, and his hands from shaking.

Charles Cornick had just called in, reporting his nearness, and Ian was waiting to greet him.

God, his heart was pounding.

Everything in him was screaming to escape from this larger predator, and only his loyalty to his Alpha kept him here.

He, unlike so many others of his pack, had no desire to come face to face with The Enforcer.

They feared him, sure, but they wanted to see the face of the man they feared. So that maybe they could understand their fear. Could justify it.

Ian already understood the fear. Charles was a wolf who dominated over other wolves. Sent out to exterminate those who didn't follow the Marrok's law. This was a proven fact, not just a rumor.

He did the Marrok's dirty work single-handedly. Not only did that paint the picture of a warrior, but of a _controlled_ warrior. He managed not to go insane from his wolf's blood thirst.

Ian imagined that he had to be barely clinging to sanity. _No one _could handle that many kills.

There. There was the plane.

Dread was settled into his gut, and Ian was ashamed that he was so fearful, but he couldn't do anything about it. He could only watch as the reason for his dread landed the plane.

The silhouette in the drivers seat was massive, and that didn't help with Ian's blood pressure.

There was another figure in the passengers seat. A much smaller one.

If the rumors were true, Ian would figure this to be Charles Cornick's mate.

His instincts wouldn't let him focus on anything but the threat, so Ian returned his full attention to the massive figure stepping out of the plane.

Ian linked his fingers together behind his back, and ducked his head a little, trying to appear as submissive as possible. He let his eyes take in the threat.

Charles Cornick was Indian.

That was a shock, but not a shock at the same time.

None of the stories proclaimed him as Indian, but then again, none of the stories gave him any race.

His physical deposition alone made him formidable.

Tall, and domineering. With broad shoulders, and long limbs.

Ian felt a quiver run through him.

Then, there was the aura he gave off.

All dominants had it. The ability to make you look at them, and think, "Maybe I should leave that person alone."

To this day, Ian had never met a wolf who possessed a stronger "back off" aura, than his Alpha. The Enforcer shattered Angus's impression.

Ian felt it from here, and Charles Cornick was still two-hundred feet away.

In legends, and stories that you heard, you would would build up unreachable standards for the people in the stories. Then, if you met the person who seemed to be a God in the stories, you would almost always be disappointed.

Not this time. The one time that Ian had wished so fiercely to be disappointed, he wasn't. If anything, he hadn't raised the bar for The Enforcer high enough.

One hundred yards away. Now was panic time.

Ian reached into himself, and tried to pull out that fearless college kid, who thought he'd already seen everything.

He failed, mostly, but he was able to stop his hands from shaking.

He couldn't take the majority of his attention off the bigger threat, but he made an attempt to notice the woman walking next to Charles.

She was relatively short. Curly, light brown hair. Pale.

Ian thought she looked young. She could be a teenager. But she was a wolf, and she could be three hundred years old for all he knew.

There was something about her, that Ian couldn't place. But it made him want to put himself between her and Charles.

The urge grew stronger, so he forced himself to focus on Charles before he jumped in between Charles and the woman. Somehow, he didn't see that going over very well.

Charles Cornick was in front of him now. Only about seven feet away. The man had pulled to a stop, and Ian met his eyes. It was oh so brief, because Ian couldn't handle it, and his eyes dropped before he'd even thought about dropping them.

Charles's face was carefully neutral, not letting any emotion show - if he had ones to show. Ian thought that made him all the more imposing.

Ian didn't quite know how his heart managed to last through the encounter, especially when he'd had the hair-raising experience of crossing the other wolves line.

"_What about the Asian werewolves," Charles's mate asked, "Or African and Australian? And South American?"_

"_They don't matter," he'd said dismissively._

_Before Charles had even uttered the first word, Ian had known that he was a dead man._

"_They matter," The Enforcer had whispered low, and dangerously, "They have been dealt with differently."_

Ian hadn't been able to control his spike in fear, the blood rushing from his face. He'd never been so scared in his life. To have known he'd crossed the stronger wolf, and to have had to fight off the screaming instinct to run.

He hadn't been killed though, and the other wolf had left, his new mate in tow.

Ian didn't know how any woman handled Charles. All he knew was that she had to be twenty times stronger than she looked.

They'd left, and the wolves at his back had breathed a sigh of relief, and Ian had just watched them drive off. His heart was still racing, and he had to work to make his hands cooperate enough to pull out his phone.

He called Angus. Let him know that Charles had arrived, and nobody had been killed. Yet.

He'd survived. And he liked to think that the experience had made him stronger.

Ian Garner didn't consider himself to be a fearful man, but he knew that they're were things in life that a smart man knew to be afraid of.

And Charles Cornick was one of those things.

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_Okay! Sorry for the long delay in my update. I know that Ian is not one of the bigger characters in the series, but I needed a less important person to work with. It helped me get back into the swing of things._

**_Thank you for your reviews of my first posting, and please review this one :)_**


	3. Heather Morrell I

**Title: Scattered Thoughts**

**Author: WhimsicallyAwkward**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heather, or Charles or anything. No copyright infringent is intended. **

**A/N: So this is Heather. And her part is going to come in installments. I'm thinking there is going to be two parts, but it could be three. Why? Because I sat down and wrote, and it just got longer, and _longer_.  
>I'm starting when Heather was young, and carrying up until after Anna. I think this is the best way to do her. She would have first met Charles as a child, but it would take her growing up to form her impressions.<strong>

*****NOTE: Okay, I read the Alpha and Omega series _without_ reading Mercy Thompson. I just recently started the Mercy Thopmson series, but I'm only on the second book. This puts me at a disadvantage with some of the characters. I have no idea if the character of Heather is detailed in Mercy Thompson. So please let me know if I have this all wrong. Ok? Thanks :)*****

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><p>Her first memory of the Cornick's who run her town is when she's about five years old.<p>

Her mom had been crying a lot recently, and suddenly her dad isn't around. Her mom sits her down to tell her that daddy isn't here anymore, that he's in a better place. Heather cries because she doesn't understand. She cries because she's scared.

Then she's in an itchy black dress, and she's sitting in church with her mom. Grandma's here, and her older brothers, and the _entirety_ of the town. Heather sees her best friend Piper, but she stays close to her mom.

It's been an awful few days, and Heather just wants to be at home. Not here, with all of the hugs, and the sad smiles. Not with so many people crammed into one room.

She's been here a lot recently. This is the fourth time to be at church in this itchy dress, this week.

Her mom says it's because several people have been called home to Heaven.

Her brother says it's because of the Cornick's.

Cornick.

She's heard that name before. Everywhere she's heard it, from everyone. It's what their little town seems to revolve around. Even now, her little ears pick up snatches.

"_Charles Cornick….yes…it had to be done, though."_

"_Couldn't Charles have given him another day, at least? Such a good man…"_

"…_.Cornick…"_

"…_.Bran….Samuel…Charles…"_

She's curious, and she tugs on her mom's shirt sleeve.

"Mommy? Who're the Cornick's?

Her mom inhales, her eyes tearing again.

"Oh, sweetie. They're just a family around here. A pretty important one. You know the king's and the queens in fairytales? The ones that rule the lands?"

Heather nods. Of course she knows the kings and queens.

Her mom wraps her arm around Heather, pulling her close.

"Well, they're kind of like the king's of Aspen Creek. They're strong, and smart…," she trails, eyes watering, "and they're good, Heather. They are. They have to do tough things, and sometimes they don't seem so great, but they are. They can be a little scary, though."

Everyone around them is quiet, and Heather thinks they are listening to her mom as well.

Heather can hear the door open, and the silence that drops is almost deafening.

Heather's brothers glare behind them, before turning around and staring stonily ahead. But Heather turns in her seat, looking to see what is causing it all.

There's a man. He's walking smoothly, shaking a few hands. He gets closer, and her mother stands to see him.

He stops, kisses her hand. Her mother calls him Bran. Bran Cornick.

He whispers something in her mother's ear, then bends down to get on Heather's level. His eyes meet hers, pretty and hazel. For some reason she flinches, but she doesn't look away. She's a child, and a child sees the world differently than adults. She sees a man, who looks a little too sad for her liking, not someone dominant. Not someone whose eyes she can't meet.

He smiles at her softly when she meets his gaze, and then he kisses her hand too.

"I am very sorry for your dad, Heather. There isn't anything more I can do to help you and your family, but I am always here."

Then he straightened, and walked on down the aisle.

Heather stepped out into the aisle, looking after him. She stood there for a moment, then she heard her mother's intake of breath. Heard her brothers' call.

And she feels something close behind her, so she spins - her eyes coming level with yet another pair of black clad legs.

He's about three feet away from her, and she raises her eyes until her head cranes back.

It's a man. A very big man - more like her Uncle Tag than her dad. But he's different than she's ever seen. His hair is long, and black. His skin isn't white, but she doesn't think it's black either.

She doesn't know, but he's looking down at her - not smiling, but not angry. She's in his way, so Heather smiles sheepishly.

Her mom isn't coming towards her, but she's holding her arms out - eyes worried.

Heather doesn't go to her immediately. She continues to look up at the man, still in his way.

"'M sorry, mister."

Then, before she can back away, her brother reaches out and pulls her back.

The man doesn't go to walk away, but her looks above her - at Josh, whose arms are tight around her.

Josh pulls her back a few more steps, his breathing heavy.

Heather glances up at him, and sees that he's looking hard at the floor. When she turns around again, the man is walking away; following after the other man.

Everyone is still deathly silent when the last man passes, who winks at Heather before also going to the front.

Heather sees that they all sit in the same row.

Behind her, Josh curses under his breath. Their mom slaps his arm, before taking Heather away from him.

"What was that about?" Amelia mutters to Josh very quietly, "Stupidest thing I've seen."

"You weren't getting her!" Josh grumbles back, just as quietly. "You were just letting her stand right there in front of Charles freaking Cornick."

"And what were you afraid he was going to do, huh? Decide he was going to kill a five year old for getting in his way?"

Josh glared ahead, "Well, it's something he might do."

Amelia's eyes shot wide open, the redness emphasized. She reached around, gently shoving Heather into the arms of her youngest son, Brady.

Then she turned back to Josh, voice still low, and Heather had to crane to hear.

"Now you listen to me, Joshua. Charles did what he had to do, just like he always does. You've spent seventeen years in this town, and you know just what everything here entitles. Your father couldn't be saved, he just couldn't. He's much better off."

When Josh turned to snap back, he saw his mom's face covered in tear tracks, and he just nodded. Then he reached his arm around her neck, holding her.

Heather, still in Brady's lap, looked up at him.

"Who was that?" she whispered.

His arms flexed around her. "That was one of the Cornick's. Charles. And the other two were Bran, and Samuel."

Then he doesn't say anything, and her mother doesn't either.

And the people around them start talking again, so Heather stays quiet and confused in her seat.

Later, lots of people tell stories about her dad - her brothers included. Everyone cries, and sniffles, and Heather just stares at the back of three particular heads.

* * *

><p>She has just turned nine years old. Scabby knees, and skinny limbs. Big, bright eyes that are always curious. She's a handful. Keeping her mother running around after her.<p>

Josh has left now. He's 21, and he moved into an out of town apartment for his final year of college.

Heather feels that he couldn't wait to get out. He loved them, of course. But he'd always said he hated their town - and everything about it. Plus, he'd never been the same after their dad had died.

He'd never been able to hear the name Cornick without scowling, either.

Brady is seventeen. Big, and tall like their Uncle Tag.

He's never quite been the same either. He isn't as extreme as the oldest brother, but he follows Josh blindly. If Josh thinks the town and its functions are ridiculous, then they must be.

Now that Josh has gone, Brady can't wait to follow.

That leaves just Heather and her mom most of the time. And Uncle Tag, of course. He's been around almost constantly since the death of Heather's father. Something else that Heather's brothers found it in themselves to resent. He could never take the place of their father.

Sometimes, Heather would see Tag shake his head sadly at her mother.

"_They're too bitter for their own good. Have a lot of growing up to do."_

Heather misses them. Josh's noise in the house, the dinner that would be eaten if she didn't get there fast enough. Mostly though, she misses the them before her dad died.

When they weren't so angry. Weren't so grown up.

Josh, bowing before sweeping her into dance. Brady, reading all of her favorite fairytales to her. Playing with her, laughing with her. Letting her drag them into tea parties.

The last time they had a tea party was two weeks before her dad died.

Of course, she's too old for tea parties now. She likes climbing trees, and playing in the park. She likes going to town, and walking into every store to say hello.

Her brothers have always said they hated this town for all that it was, but she loves it.

Where every neighbor is a friend.

But she's old enough now to notice that there are a lot of weird things about Aspen Creek. A lot of them.

They all start with the Cornick's.

Bran Cornick is the dad of Charles and Samuel Cornick. She's picked up on that, though no one has told her outright; they would all glance away, and ignore her if she asked. So she learned to _listen_.

Bran is their dad. But he looks the same age. Parents are supposed to be older. Her mom is older. Her dad _was_ older.

Sometimes when she sees him, he looks _younger _than his very serious-faced son.

So that was weird-factor number one about her town.

Number two was that Uncle Tag could hear her from other rooms.

"_Mom? What state is it that Josh goes to college in?"_

_Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Heather was sitting on the table, looking expectantly at her. Amelia opened her mouth, but she was interrupted by Tag._

_Tag emerged from behind a door, his big hands cradling his bowl of soup. He didn't even look over at Heather as he answered._

"_Washington. Over on the West Coast. He wanted to get some distance between him and this town."_

_Amelia made a sound in the back of her throat, and Tag tensed, looking at Heather. Heather - who didn't miss a beat - asked, "How'd you hear me? That TV is up pretty loud."_

_Tag paused a moment before smiling goofily. "Good ears, I guess, girl." Then he ruffled her hair with one huge hand, before bounding back to the other room._

Yeah, very good ears.

It wasn't the only time Tag or another person around town had done that. Tag chuckling when her brother whispered a joke in her ear.

Mr. Brooks, owner of the local restaurant, smiling knowingly from thirty feet away when they compliment his food.

And there was the fact that some of them didn't seem to _age_. Heather knew about aging. Her brothers aged, bulking up and closing down. Ready to run out of town when they were too tall for Heather to see eye to eye without craning her neck.

Heather aged. She got taller, her hands got bigger. She had to get new shoes, bigger shirts.

Her mother aged. Amelia didn't get taller; she didn't mark her height off on the door jam every year.

But she _aged_.

"_Damn."_

_Amelia said it so softly that Heather knew she hadn't meant for Heather to hear it, but hear it she did._

_Heather walked the four feet to her mother, who was standing in front of the mirror._

"_What's wrong, mommy?"_

_Amelia's eyes darted to her daughter, "Oh, nothing sweetie. Just life."_

_She reached up to her hair, and made a quick motion with her hand. Then she crouched by Heather._

"_You know how the old men and women in town have gray hair."_

_Heather nodded._

"_Well, that happens to us all when we age. Our hair, no matter what color it is when we're young, goes gray."_

_She was holding a strand of her hair, and instead of the auburn hair she had, it was gray._

She got gray hair, she formed wrinkles. She _aged_.

Heather's uncle hadn't changed a bit. Not one. No gray hair, no wrinkles. He looked the exact same as he had in a picture fifteen years before. His sister got gray hair, and he stayed the same. Always.

Heather noticed this, but when she ever tried to ask she was ushered to be quiet. And always told the same line.

"_Aspen Creek is a unique place, Heather. Very unique. Some people here are a little bit different. When you're older, you'll understand."_

Always, always, when she was older. That's what her mother said, what her uncle said, what her brothers said. What _everyone_ says.

Until the day she goes home from school, having listened to Jimmy from sixth grade tell her and a few others what his dad told him.

Her mom is sitting on the couch, her expression that vacant one that she has had sometimes since Heather's dad had died.

Heather drops her school bags and sits beside her mother, not saying anything as Amelia hugs her and asks how her day went.

"Mom, I know you told me not to talk about Uncle Tag and the people like him. Told me not to talk about how they're different from us, but a boy at school was talking about them. He said that the stories you tell me are true. He said that our town was like a kingdom in a fairytale. But that instead of dragons defending our castle its werewolves. He told me that the Cornick's were werewolves, and that other people in town are. He said Uncle Tag was a werewolf."

Heather is barely stopping to breathe. She doesn't want her mother to break in and tell her she's being silly before she can support it.

"He said that they can hear really, really good. Like Uncle Tag can. And he says that they are really strong too. He said his dad picked up their table with one hand. And Uncle Tag is strong too. He crushed the doorknob, and you told me that was normal, but Jimmy says that it isn't. That he would have to have super strength.  
>He said that they don't age. Which is why Uncle Tag always looks the same. You said that he is older than you, but he doesn't <em>look<em> it. So don't tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about, because I do. It all makes sense."

Then she stops. She breathes because she's laid it all out there, and now she wants to hear what her mom has to say.

Amelia doesn't say anything for a minute. She stares at Heather so intently that Heather starts to feel foolish, and the she drops her head into her hands. Her shoulder shake.

Heather's eyes widen, because this is so far from what she expected. Her mother denying it, telling her she's too young and stupid. Her mother being angry, but not sad. Amelia is crying and Heather tears up to, because she doesn't know what's wrong. Doesn't know how to fix it. Then Amelia pulls Heather to her, and they cry together.

Later, they sit at the table. Brady isn't saying much, just sitting solidly next to his sister. Showing her more attention than he has in a long time. Heather is pulled into Amelia's side, and they watch silently as Tag fixes all of them cocoa.

When Tag sits too, he and Amelia talk softly to Heather.

Tell her the truth of their town, and the Cornick's. Tell her the truth of the world. That monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves. Creatures out of the fairytales that Heather loves so much are real too. Fairies, trolls.

It's all so overwhelming, and she's too young to comprehend it all, so she clings to her older brother - because he has always protected her. Amelia calls Jimmy's dad, tells him about Jimmy running his mouth to children to young to handle it, but she can't take back that Heather _knows_ now. Heather and five other kids know the truth now.

When Amelia puts Heather to bed, after they've talked for hours and Tag has gone home, Heather opens up her book of fairytales.

These stories were always an escape, but now they ring to close to the truth. The scary creatures were real, but the princesses weren't.

Heather will still love her fairytales, but never with the innocence she did before.

She wakes up later, after midnight. There is noise outside, so she cracks open her door and looks down the hall.

Her mom is in the kitchen with Brady and Josh. _Josh_ who Heather hasn't seen in months, and she almost runs to him, but then she hears her mother's sobs.

"My baby, my _baby_. She's too young, Josh."

Josh is holding Amelia, shaking his head. "I know, mom. It'll be okay, though. She's tough, she'll handle it way better than Brady or I did."

"Oh, she'll be okay. I know that. But she's too _young_. Neither of you knew until you were _thirteen_. I didn't want to have your childhood's revolving around the existence of monsters. So now I'm crying. Crying for the loss of innocence."

Heather crept her door shut then, and crawled silently back into bed.

The next morning she walked out, and ran to Josh when she saw him. She let him wrap her up, and she tucked her face into his shoulder. He said he'd come back because he missed her, but she knew her mom called him back. With her face still hidden on his shoulder, she willed everything to be normal again.

To go back four years. Back when her dad was alive, and her brothers loved her, and her mom laughed. Back before the Cornick's and the tales of monsters that went with them.

She never told them she heard them that night. Not even thirty years later.

* * *

><p><em>()<em>

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_A/N: Hope you like! Please review. Heather part 2 is already half written, so it shouldn't take too long for me to throw it out here. Within the next week or so._


	4. Heather Morrell ll

**Title: Scattered Thoughts**

**Author: WhimsicallyAwkward**

**Rating: T **

**Beta: No Beta...all me, so forgive minor mistakes please. Also, I tend to be a comma whore - so forgive that as well.**

**Disclaimer: And, once again, I do not own any part of the Alpha and Omega series. No monetary gain is made.**

**A/N: So yes, when I look at my last update, I see that little line about the next update not taking long, and I cringe. I'm so sorry guys. And really, I have no excuse. I had the next update almost completely written when I last posted, and then I hit a terrible writer's block. I ended up going back and deleting a good bit of what I'd already written. So, anyways, I'm terribly sorry.  
>But, hey! Good news - I guess. This is not the last you will see of Heather. She has gotten into my brain, and her entire life has thrown itself at me, so her piece keeps growing and growing. That means that there will be a part 3! <strong>

**Anna won't make an appearance until the next update.**

**Long note I know, but bear with me. I realize now that I didn't do a very good job of letting you all know who Heather was, and when the snap shots were taking place.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Heather Morrell is a mid-40s woman that we briefly met in Cry Wolf. She grew up in Aspen Creek, and her uncle is Tag. She and Tag brought the human victim(Heather's friend) of the rogue werewolf in to Aspen Creek to be seen by Bran and Samuel. Not much is known about her.<em>**

* * *

><p><em>Heather Morrell: Part ll<em>

She's thirteen. Her hair is long, her face full of braces.

She's adventurous. Always outside. Always playing with the boys. Baseball, dodge ball, anything and everything.

And she's known to _never _back down from a dare. Ever. It's a thing of pride for her.

And it is sometimes her downfall.

Like right now. Her friends Daniel and Mark are standing alongside her, next to a plain black mailbox.

A mailbox that sends terror through her.

Heather takes a deep breath, and stuffs her hands in her pockets so the boys won't see them shaking.

Her voice croaked in the cold weather. "Okay. So, I go up the driveway, and into the house."

Daniel nods. "Yeah, and bring back something to prove you went in."

Steal? From Charles Cornick's house? Well, that was her death sentence wrapped up in a bow.

She hesitates, and Daniel grins in victory. "I knew you would back down! Who's the -"

"Shut up, Danny. I'm going."

Danny's smile fades, and he sneers, "Your death wish."

Heather gives him an unimpressed look, and turns on her heel.

"Wait!"

It's Mark. Heather turns expectantly, sees him looking between her and Daniel in rapid succession.

"You can't be serious, Danny. We can't make her go through with this. It's dangerous! I think you can _see _that she is planning to go through with it. Isn't that enough?"

"No it isn't. It's a dare. You have to go through with it."

Mark groaned, his eyes still panicked.

Heather willed her face to smile. "It's okay, Mark. I'm going to go in, and then right back out. He won't even know I've been there. And if he did, it's not like he'd kill some stupid teenager, right?"

Her voice shook a bit on the last sentence, making it lose any power it had. But it reassured Mark, so she set off down the long driveway.

And it was a _long_ driveway.

It's cold, and she's scared, and it's probably the most miserable she's ever been.

All dread, and terror churning in her stomach.

It doesn't matter that Charles Cornick isn't even in town. She still imagines him lunging at her in his wolf form when she walks into his house. And she's never even _seen_ his wolf form.

No one goes inside Charles Cornick's house. So few even go down his driveway. No one looks at him wrong, no one speaks to him wrong.

So many stories she's heard, so many nightmare things.

She stops, her fear getting the better of her.

God, what is she _doing_?

Risking her life because of her pride. So stupid. Charles Cornick is a killer, and she's going to break into his house.

Her breathing is heavy, and her knees are weak.

There is still a good ways left to walk, but she can see the house now. It's dark. There is one faint light he apparently left on.

Okay. Breathe. He's out-of-town. Gone, like he always is. Off killing more people.

Okay, that last thought didn't help with the nerves.

Heather makes her legs move. She's a sensible person, and she knows that she'll be in and out. Real fast.

She'll pick something small up, and then she'll bring it back before anyone ever finds out.

Oh, if her mother could see her now.

She quits thinking, because she'll end up turning and running. She focuses on her breathing, on one foot in front of the other.

And then she's there. The house is right in front of her. Not overly big, not very fancy. Just a ranch style house, a truck parked in the driveway.

Okay, okay. No thinking, just doing. Just keep moving.

Heather, with one last look around, wrapped her hand around the door knob. She breathed once, twice, three times before pushing the door open.

She entered quickly. Then she stopped and rested her back on the door.

Just a house. A house like any other. A house like hers - with some considerably nicer things. Not a dungeon. Not a crypt like the monsters in the stories would live in.

Heather jumps into action. She needs to get in and get out. Her teeth are on edge, and her body keeps trying to run.

Something to take, something to take.

She sees a blanket first, turns it down because it's too big. There's a guitar, but that isn't a meaningless object.

She looks - frantic. A photograph? No. A pillow? No.

Running to the kitchen, she pulls open a few of the cupboards until she finds one with the glasses.

Not taking any time, she snatches a coffee mug, before gently shutting the cupboard. She makes herself walk back to the door.

Once Heather's got the door shut behind her - she's running.

The mug is cradled in her hands. Her body itching with the desire to get away.

Then she's huffing, and the boys are gasping. Heather collapses, her face dropping between her knees. Her stomach is rolling, and she hopes she can fight past the nausea.

"Oh my god, you did it! Why did you do that? Oh, we are so dead, so dead."

And Heather wants to cry, but she doesn't. She gathers herself to snap at Danny, but Mark get's there first.

"Shut _up_, Danny! It was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think she'd go through with it!"

"Well she did. And you just going to have to deal with it."

Heather thinks she's okay now. The terror that had her knees shaking is numbed, so she stands; turns her eyes coldly to Danny.

"Well? Is this proof enough?"

The mug dangles on her fingers, right in front of Danny's face.

Danny's mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide. He nods slowly. "Um, yeah."

Heather nods too. Then she gives the mug to Mark to hold. She starts to wipe off the dirt on her jeans.

"Good. Because we're going to run back up there, and replace the mug before he gets back. That way he'll never know."

Mark just stares at the mug like it's going to attack him, but Danny looks shocked.

"We? It's your dare!"

"My dare was to break into his house alone, and to take something to prove I did. You never said that I had to go _back_ to that place on my own."

She likes to think that she's making them come so that she can see the same fear she feels on Danny's face. But really, she doesn't think that she'd make it back to the house without someone to walk beside her.

It's illogical, because no one is at the house. She can't help it though. She just wouldn't make it up that long driveway.

So they start walking, none of them saying anything to each other. She takes the mug from Mark, and she tucks it into her shirt. She'd so scared that something will happen to it, and that Charles will _know_.

They can see the house now, and relief is preparing to set in when they hear it.

A car. Coming up the driveway.

Oh God. Oh God.

They were screwed now. Heather freezes, her eyes looking for the headlights to shine through the trees.

It was all over. She was never going to see her brothers again. Never going to watch TV with her uncle. Never hug her mom.

Oh, her _mom_. Amelia would be heartbroken.

Mark is screaming in her ear, so she looks at him. He frantically points. She follows it, sees that Danny has already tucked himself in the bushes. Hiding.

Oh, brilliant. She'd just have to put up with him after all.

Then she's running. She dives into the bushes, and when she hears the breaking of the mug so carefully contained, she wants to cry. But there are more pressing issues, and she stuffs herself as far back as possible. They all stop moving.

The car is close now; they can see headlights.

Then it's there - passing. Heather stops breathing. It doesn't slow, doesn't stop. Then it's gone. On down the road.

They wait until it's almost out of sight, and then they run all the way back to Mark's house. His sister is the only one there, and she only turns her nose up at the three dirty kids.

They go to his room, lay the broken fragments of the mug on his bed. They stare at it, and at each other until Mark's mom gets home.

They were so dead.

* * *

><p>It's been three days. Three, long days. Later, she'd look back on it as the three most miserable days of her life.<p>

Heather took the broken pieces home with her. She hid them in her closet.

Charles Cornick still hadn't returned home, and they were still living in dread.

Her family noticed how reserved she was acting, but she just brushed them off. Tag sat her down yesterday; asked her what she was so afraid of. She mentions something about an essay, and ignores his severe frown.

It's the same with her friends at school. Her and the boys hadn't told a soul what had happened.

Oh, it was horrible. The waiting, the dreading.

It's Sunday now, and she's sitting in church with Tag, Brady, and her mom. She can see Mark from where she's at. She knows Danny is somewhere behind her.

She knows that they are as petrified as she is.

Will today be the day he returns? He left last Monday, and he's almost never gone for more that a week. He rarely misses coming to church with his dad and his brother.

He was probably going to walk through those doors any second, and he would walk straight to her and accuse her of stealing. Then the Marrok would come over, Samuel at his side.

They would all stare down at her with their timeless faces.

Okay. Breathe. Stay calm.

Tag is here. Uncle Tag is sitting right next to her.

The thought gives her a lot of comfort. Uncle Tag is a werewolf too. He won't let Charles kill her. No.

Heather breathes. For comfort, she grabs on her uncle's arm. He looks down at her and smiles.

The Marrok and Samuel walk in…but there is no Charles.

Oh, the relief is sweet.

Another day. He was gone for at least another day.

There is some small part inside of her that is disappointed. That small part is just ready for the waiting to be over. She tells it to shut up.

The two make it down the aisle. Neither of them look anywhere near Heather or her two accomplices.

And for the next five minutes, Heather is okay. She thinks she'll be okay for a whole day now.

Heather lets out another breath, when suddenly a presence sweeps over the room.

A presence that feels an awful lot like that of Charles Cornick.

Her fear rocketing up, she tucks herself further into Tag's arm.

Sure enough, there he is. The Enforcer in all his glory. His face as cold as ever, his hair tied back.

The sight of him makes Heather crumple a bit.

The Enforcer is walking closer.

But he doesn't slow his stride, and he pays just as much attention to her as his family did before him.

Maybe they made it. Maybe they succeeded in not being found out. Maybe he doesn't really pay attention to the amount of coffee mugs he has in his cupboard.

Or maybe he just hasn't been home yet. Hasn't been there to discover he's been broken into.

Well, technically his door was open. But that's because he's one of the biggest wolves around here. No one would be stupid enough to break into his house.

No one except for Heather.

She doesn't know how she made it through the service without hyperventilating. Looking back on it later, she can't even remember what she did. What the service was about.

All she knew was that afterwards, she was standing in the church with her mom. They were talking to Miss Gloria. Charles Cornick was walking out the door.

Leaving! He left!

Gone without a word, without a glance. Maybe they'd done it. She tries to bat it off, but hope overtakes her.

Maybe, just maybe.

She meets Mark's eyes before he leaves, and he gives her a wobbly smile.

They leave. Tag and Brady head to Heather's house, and Heather goes with her mom to the store. They grocery shop every Sunday, and the routine of it helps soothe her frayed nerves.

By the time they get to the house, she's almost calm. But then she sees the truck in the driveway.

It's Charles's.

And just like that, her stomach drops, her heart races, and she thinks she's just going to die right here in the driveway. It'd probably be for the best. That way, she wouldn't have to face Charles Cornick.

Oh god.

She's shaking, and her mom frowns at the car - pulls Heather in to her side.

"Heather, baby? What's wrong?"

Heather shakes her head, tucks herself closer to her mom.

"He's not going to hurt you, Heather. He's probably just talking to Tag about werewolf business. It's okay, baby."

Then she stops, looks between Heather and the house. "Do you want to go somewhere until they're through?"

Heather sees the escape, and she almost takes it. But then that part of her that is so tired of _waiting_ stops her.

"No."

Her mom is still frowning, and Heather's knees are still shaking as they walk to the door.

Heather holds tight to her mom's hand.

Everyone is in the kitchen. The air is almost suffocating.

Charles and Bran Cornick are both there. Sitting at Heather's kitchen table. It was an almost comical sight. To see people of such power sitting casually in Heather's home.

Tag had pulled a chair away from the table, and he'd folded himself into it. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and his lips were pressed tight.

Brady was as far as he could get from the two guests. All the way across the kitchen, sitting on the counter, his back pressed against the cupboards. He wasn't moving. He was barely even breathing. His jaw clenched tight.

He wouldn't look at the Cornick's, but his body language made his feelings clear.

And Heather? Heather was drowning in her own fear.

Amelia walked them closer, and Heather pressed back into her mom. Trying to melt into her.

Her heart was going to give out if it didn't stop beating this fast.

"What is going on, Tag?"

Her mom hadn't yelled, but her voice sounded unnaturally loud.

Tag glanced over Heather; met his sister's eyes.

"They're here to talk to Heather."

Her mom's arm wrapped protectively around her.

"Heather? What? Why?"

Tag looked at Heather then, and Heather felt stinging in her eyes.

"They say that she went to Charles's house while he was away. That she broke in and stole a mug from his cabinet."

Heather felt the first tear well over.

Amelia's hold on her daughter tightened. "What? That's ridiculous! Heather wouldn't -"

"Amelia."

When Tag said her name, Amelia looked down at her daughter. Saw her fear, and her tears, and she stopped talking. Heather saw some emotion cross her face before it hardened.

Brady hopped off of his perch, walked over to stand next to them. He held his arms out, and Heather slipped out of her mother's slackened hold.

Brady. Her older brother. Who'd always protected her. She stood in his arms, taking shuddering breaths.

Uncle Tag met Heather's eyes.

"Is this true, Heather?"

She felt the weight of the Cornicks' eyes, and she almost buckled beneath it.

Slowly, she nodded her head yes.

And then, before she lost her nerve, she looked over at Charles - stared at a spot just beside his head.

"I - I'm sorry. I w-was going to put it b-back, but there was a car, and w-we, um, we got scared and hid, and I accidentally broke it, and I'm sorry!"

It was stuttering and shaky, and she had to force the last words out, but she managed it.

Bran, old-man Bran, spoke.

"We?"

Heather paled. They hadn't known about Mark and Daniel, and now she'd blown it.

She didn't say anything.

"It's okay, Heather. We already know that Mr. Daniel and Mr. Mark were there to."

She felt her eyes widen, saw Bran chuckle. "H-um, how did you know that?"

He stared at her, and she stared at his ear. "Wolves have extremely heightened senses, Heather. When Charles arrived home he was able to smell the three of you."

Oh. So really, they'd all been screwed the moment they stood at the top of his driveway.

Heather tried to look at Charles, and couldn't manage it. She saw Bran frown, glance at his son. And then suddenly the room was lighter, and her fear wasn't pressing into her so bad.

Behind her, Brady let out a small gasp.

Her fear was still there, but the all-crushing sense of doom was gone, and she figured it had something to do with the fact that Charles Cornick had managed to bottle up his aura.

The powerful presence that always followed him had been stuffed somewhere inside him.

Heather stared in wonder, and tried to meet his eyes.

Nope. Her gaze met his, and then floated immediately away. Everything was still there in those eyes. She remembers being able to meet those eyes when she was a child. Things had definitely changed.

He spoke, his voice piercing the room. "Heather."

Brady pulled her closer to him, and she felt like crying again. Here it was. Now he was going to accuse her of her crimes.

She looked at his hands that were resting on the table, and made herself speak.

"Yes sir?"

"I'm not going to hurt you. You have my word. You can ask your uncle. Wolves cannot lie to other wolves. He would know if I weren't telling the truth."

Despite herself, her curiosity forced the question passed her lips.

"You know when people are lying?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Oh. Well. I guess it's a good thing that I didn't lie about going into your house?"

He didn't smile, but Bran did, and when Charles spoke, his voice was lighter.

"Yes. It is."

No one spoke for a beat.

"Now, Heather. I just want to know why you went in my house, and took a coffee mug."

"It was a dare."

"A dare?"

"Yes sir. My friend Daniel dared me to go into your house, but then when we got there he made me bring something back because he wanted proof. He said that I wouldn't go into your house because I would be too afraid. So I had to go in, and get the mug. I was going to take it back, I swear! But when we were on the way back, a car came. We hid in the bushes and I accidentally broke it. I'm really sorry."

She forced herself to stop babbling. No one said anything, and Heather bit her lip, waited for the verdict.

She'd gone into a werewolf's house without permission. Gone into _Charles Cornick's _house. And now he was here, and he could kill her if he wanted to. And he probably wouldn't lose sleep over it.

That's what everyone said. That he was a killer. That he was cold, and emotionless, and ruthless. Her friends at school said their parents told them that he had killed hundreds.

What was one more?

So she waited, heart pounding, and her instincts screaming at her to run.

She cringed when he opened his mouth to talk, and then her jaw dropped at what he said.

"Well, you proved Daniel wrong, didn't you?"

Tag was smirking, and Bran was laughing, and Brady was frozen.

And Charles, the emotionless killer, was smiling at her.

Smiling!

It wasn't dramatic or anything. Actually - on anyone else, Heather would have said it wasn't even a smile. But his lips turned up, and it was the closest to a smile she'd ever seen him get.

Bran laughed, "She certainly did. You've got more guts than most, Heather. I don't know many grown men that would do what you did."

Heather, confused and still fearful, blushed.

"I didn't want to back down. I've never lost a dare."

Tag called her his girl, and her mom offered food. Everyone was talking, but Heather was still dumbstruck.

He hadn't even been angry! He'd smiled, and she was okay. She was definitely going to have a story to tell everyone at school.

Heather looked over at Charles, who was nursing his drink and not talking. His overwhelming personality still hidden somewhere.

He'd smiled, and she was still alive.

She thought about the stories she'd always heard, thought about everything she'd seen. He was definitely dangerous, and she knew he _did_ kill people.

He'd killed her dad. She'd found that out a year ago.

Her mom had told her about her dad getting sick. He'd gotten sick, and he had three kids, so he'd had to try. Had to try to live. So he'd been changed.

But a lot of people didn't survive the change. That was why, every year they had three or four funerals in a row.

Her mom said that Charles killed them because they couldn't control the wolf inside. Said that it had to be done. She said that their dad would have wanted to die, because he couldn't control himself, and he would've hurt them. He wasn't the same person.

Her brothers said it was bullshit. They said that their dad deserved a chance, and that Charles was a cold-blooded killer.

Heather never knew what she believed, never knew how to feel.

But now, sitting at a table with two of the three Cornicks, she sided firmly with her mom.

Because Charles wasn't evil. She thought he was strong. Strong enough to do what he had to do. She didn't know why he was so cold, but she knew that he wasn't evil. That didn't mean he wasn't scary. Even now her heart still pounded.

Bran wasn't evil either. Bran, who laughed and called her brave. But, like his son, that didn't mean he wasn't scary.

Later, when they're walking out the door. Charles looks at her and says, "If anyone dares you to go in my house again, tell me beforehand."

She smiles, and says, "Maybe I could get you to scare them out of it?"

He doesn't say anything, but she sees that almost smile.

Then they're gone, and she hugs Tag and her mom. Her brother is scowling in the corner, and she can only feel sad that he doesn't see what she does in Charles Cornick. She will always fear him, though. Because he kills on command, and for the rest of her life, every time she sees him the fear will run over her skin.

* * *

><p>She's eighteen. She's made it through school, and the world is open to her. It's exciting, and so scary.<p>

It doesn't feel real. But it is.

She's standing in her gown with all of her classmates. She can see her family. Her mom, with hair more gray than brown now, smiling proudly. Uncle Tag who was trying to make himself fit into the chair provided.

And her brothers. She didn't even know if they would show up. Their continued hatred for the Cornicks, and the ways of this town had put a wedge in the family. They weren't estranged, but things were always tense when everyone was together in Aspen Creek - which is why for the most part, Heather and her mom visited them.

Josh was pulling on his tie, and that made Heather smile. He'd never been one for suits and ties. It was nice to see that old habit.

His wife was next to him, all pretty smiles and long blonde hair. They'd met at college, and gotten married when Heather was sixteen.

Her name was Jill, and Heather liked her. Because they lived outside of Aspen Creek, Josh wasn't supposed to tell her about the hidden side of the town, but he had.

In the aftermath there had been a blowup argument between Josh and Tag. The two of them still hadn't settled their differences completely. Heather didn't think they ever would.

Jill had reacted fine though. She'd been shaken up at first, but then settled to the idea. She really was great. Heather thought she was perfect for Josh.

Josh pulled her close to him, rested his hand on her growing stomach.

Brady was next to Josh, towering over him. Both boys had grown big, but Josh had stopped growing around 6'2 while Brady shot up to 6'5. He was still several inches shorted than Tag though.

Despite everything - all the fights and the differences - Heather loved each one of them fiercely. They were all here, and that was all that mattered.

Josh and Brady hadn't even made a fuss over the Cornicks presence.

All four of them.

Bran, Leah, Charles, and Samuel.

It was well-known that every year, Bran made it to graduation. But Samuel missed now and then, Leah sporadically made it, and Charles almost never made it.

So it was incredibly rare for them all to make it.

They were sitting in the back; being so indiscreet that they wouldn't have even been noticed had it not been for who they were.

None of them had changed. Not one bit. Heather understood the 'werewolves don't age' , but it was still weird to see people she'd grown up around never change.

Heather forgot about it all as she laughed, and cried with her friends. Everyone was going places, different colleges, different towns.

Including Heather.

Growing up she'd always planned to stay in Aspen Creek for the rest of her life, but she'd gotten a full-ride scholarship to an out-of-state college. She'd almost talked herself out of it, because she couldn't leave her mom, could she? She'd hated her brothers for leaving and now she was planning on it, but her mom had been her number one supporter.

So here she was, smiling with her family. Getting back-breaking hugs from her Uncle Tag and her brothers. Trading words with her mom.

Over her mom's shoulder, she sees Charles Cornick.

He looks the same as he did when she was five and blocking his way in the church aisle.

He's standing with his brother. A quick glance around shows Heather that Bran and his wife are talking with a few parents.

She'll never really know what possessed her to do it, but one second she's standing with her family, and the next she's walking over to Charles and Samuel.

She doesn't even know what she plans on saying, and she can barely think over the pounding of her heart.

The traditional fear that accompanies the Cornicks makes her knees wobbly and her palms sweaty.

They see her coming. Samuel smiles and raises an eyebrow, but Charles only looks.

She looks at the less threatening brother, hoping she won't lose her nerve.

Then she's standing in front of them, and the only thing she can think to say is "Hi."

Samuel's eyes flash in amusement, but he keeps his face straight for her benefit.

"Hi, Heather."

She starts. "You know my name?"

Samuel does grin now. "Well, it's a small town. And like I would forget the name of the kid who had the nerve to break into my brother's house."

She blushes deeply, stammers and then makes herself stop when Samuel laughs.

"Yeah, well they would have never let me forget it if I backed down." She could have left it there, but she felt compelled to explain. "I had prided myself on never backing down from a dare back then. So Danny decided to dare me to do something outrageous."

"Yes, very outrageous. You are very brave."

She snorted, "You wouldn't say that if you'd seen me. I was shaking like a leaf, and I had to stop and breathe every few minutes. It took ages to get down that driveway."

Charles spoke up, and his voice shocked her into stillness.

"You were thirteen years old and going alone to take something from a werewolf's house. A werewolf that terrifies you. I know wolves hundreds of years old who wouldn't have done that."

Samuel nodded.

Heather was overwhelmed, and it took her a minute to be able to choke out, "Thank you."

He nodded briskly.

She looked at him. This man who killed on orders, who'd killed her dad, and she felt sadness well up for him.

So many people were afraid of him, so many people hated him. That couldn't be easy, even for someone who seemed so emotionless.

She tried to will her fear away, because she knew now that he could sense it. It didn't work entirely. But her legs quit shaking.

They were both looking at her curiously. At least - she thought Charles was curious.

It was then that she realized what she had come to say.

"I want to apologize to you both, on behalf of my brothers."

Charles's face didn't change_(of course)_,but Samuel looked surprised. His eyes flicked over to her brothers.

"I _know_ that you know how they feel about you, and I just want you to know that they are good people, really. They're very kind, and very smart. It's just that they loved our dad very much, and I'm afraid they've been blinded to reason since his death."

She paused, hesitating. Both men waited for her to continue.

She breathed out, steeled herself to look up. She met Charles's eyes for a fraction of a second - just enough to show him she was directing this to him.

"And, I want to thank you. Thank you for being able to do what no one else can," she glanced at Samuel, "Thank all of you. I'll never understand everything about the wolves, but I understand enough to know that my father wasn't my father anymore after the change. So, I thank you for being able to kill him."

As she finished her speech, she wrung her hands together, stared at the ground.

A beat passed before either of them responded, but Samuel cleared his throat, and said, "I now see that you are wise as well as brave. I hope one day that your brothers will be able to see as you see. Nonetheless, I wish them - as well as you - good fortune in life."

Heather swallowed past the ball of emotion in her throat. Then she nodded.

"Um, could you relay my feelings to the Marrok?"

"There is no need. My father can hear us, now. He wishes for me to tell you that your father would have been proud."

Heather swallowed again, felt the tears brim in her eyes. She looked over to the Marrok, and saw that he was looking straight at her. She mouthed the words "thank you" and he nodded.

When she turned back around, Samuel was gone. It was just Charles, who rested his heavy gaze on her.

"I've lived for a long time, Heather. I've met a lot of people, and seen a lot of things. Your father was unique. He was very smart, very brave. He loved you and your family very much."

She nodded sharply. "Thank you."

"You are very much like him."

That was her undoing. The first tear slipped out, and she couldn't say anything so she only nodded.

Charles nodded as well, then said, "Go. Go be with your family. They're growing very anxious."

He spoke again while he was turning away. "I hope you find happiness."

She watched him go, her emotions raging inside her, and when he was about ten feet away, she whispered, "I hope you find happiness as well."

He neither slowed nor acknowledged her remark, but she knew he heard her.

So she was able to turn away and feel at peace for the first time since she was nine years old.

* * *

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_Hope you liked, and I'll see you later with the final installment of Heather's piece. :)_

_~WhimsicalllyAwkward~_


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